Eye of the Beholder
by Lucy Wiggin
Summary: Summary – Dean eats vegetables, Lori brings over her study group, with angsty consequences. Part of my Blind!Dean 'verse.
1. Chapter 1

**Eye of the Beholder (1/2)**

Summary – Dean eats vegetables, Lori brings over her study group, with angsty consequences. Part of my Lovers, Heroes and Rogues (Blind!Dean) 'verse.

Words - about 1,000 in this part.

Disclaimer – Don't own them.

Rating – PG-13 for swearing. Gen with hints of het.

Notes – angst with schmoop, or schmoopy angst. Dean-heavy.

* * *

Dean moved his fingers across the plate, till they were able to trace the distinguished shape of a hamburger's bun, sesame and all. However, there was something else there, moist and…

"Vegetables?_Again_?" Dean asked. "You know, there is such thing as overdosing on vitamins. I can drop dead any minute, just by eating those veggy things."

"Somehow, I doubt that a bit of lettuce and a slice of tomato would make you 'overdose' on vitamins," Lori said. He could hear her putting down another plate.

"You're just trying to avoid eating them."

"I'm not three, you know."

"No, you're six. Now eat your vegetables."

Dean groaned, just to let her know that vegetables were an insult to his stomach, but took a bite anyway. _His_ food, he thought grimly, should be eating that, but Sam – and Lori by proxy – had other ideas. He went from eating vegetables once a week to once a day.

Lori woke him from his musing. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if I have my statistics study group come here tomorrow afternoon?"

Dean suddenly had troubles swallowing his bite of hamburger and lettuce.

"Study group? Here?"

"Well, it's my turn to have them over, but if you don't feel like it…"

"No, no, it's okay," Dean said quickly. "I can't believe you're so geeky that you have a _study group_," he added.

"Funny," Lori said, "you try passing statistics without help, then we'll talk."

He used to drive Sam to his friends' houses, back in high school. Sam never brought them home, though. He didn't remember ever caring enough about school to join a study group himself, or knowing people who started one. But hey, if Lori wanted to have them over…he was just going to take cover in his room for an afternoon.

"How many people are coming?" he asked.

"Just two," Lori answered, "Hannah – she majors in Psychology, too, and Casey – she majors in Social Work. We all take pretty much the same course, only with different names, so we figured out it would be easier studying together."

"Have you always been such a geek?" Dean asked, "or is it living with Sam that affected you?"

Lori sighed.

* * *

In retrospect it was obvious that, with his lousy luck, he was destined to get caught on his quest for a bottle of beer. He opened the refrigerator, felt for the bottles and grabbed one, when –

"Dean?"

The voice made him lose his grip, and the bottle went down and shattered on the floor, covering his bare feet with broken glass and cold beer.

"Shit!"

"Don't move," Lori said, "there's glass all over the place."

"Well, I _was_ going to make sure I'll have all kind of cool green glass pieces stuck in my soles, but now that you told me not to move…" He wasn't a _complete_ idiot.

"Casey, can you bring me the paper towels?" Lori asked someone.

"Sure," said an unfamiliar female voice, and Dean shifted uncomfortably. Whoever she was – and whoever was the fourth person in the room, who hasn't spoken yet – they got a full view of his face. He could hear someone wiping around, occasionally touching his legs.

"Can I have one of those?" Dean asked. Someone put another towel in his hand. He muttered a quick thank-you and bent to clean his feet.

"It should be okay for you to move now," Lori said.

"In that case, I'm going to the bathroom to clean myself up." Without waiting for an answer, he took a wide step – just in case there were still fragments around – and moved past them. He washed his feet, dried them, and tried to shake off the feeling of being an idiot. He made himself leave the bathroom by remembering that it was spilled milk (beer, anyway) – those girls have already seen his face.

"Dean?" called Lori from behind the door, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he groaned. He pressed the knob and opened the door.

"Got your slippers," Lori said, and gave them to him.

"Now that you're beer-free…I'd like you to meet Casey and Hannah."

"Hey. Sorry about earlier." He moved his weight from one leg to another, and lifted a hand to smooth the hair at the top of his head. The slippers were still in his hand, and he bent to put them on.

"It's okay," said someone, "I'm Casey."

"I'm Hannah," said a different voice. "Nice to finally meet Lori's mysterious employer." Someone – probably Casey – giggled.

"I like keeping to myself." Dean said, straightening. "Wouldn't want to scare the little kids and all that."

"Dean!" Lori said sharply, "you're not scaring anybody."

He hoped so.

"Do you still want that beer?" Lori asked.

At that point, he _needed_ it.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great. We just finished studying. Mind if we keep you company?"

He did mind, as a matter of fact. But he couldn't say that, because then he'd have to explain why, and 'I don't want your friends staring at my scars' didn't sound quite right.

"Why not?" he said.

* * *

Those girls turned out to be okay, Dean thought. Sure, they used that fake cheery voice with him, but so did everyone but Sam and Lori; he didn't hold it against them. They sat there while he drank his beer, and he joked and charmed and listened to their stories, and tried to forget about his mess of a face.

It turned out that Hannah was Lori's old roommate, and Casey moved in her place ('my roommate was _horrible_' she said heartily) after Lori left. They talked about college life, mainly, and Dean told some – carefully censored – anecdotes from his days on the road. On one hand, he had to admit – it was nice talking to people that weren't his brother and/or caretaker. On the other…days like those made him miss the road more than ever. He missed his car, the open spaces, bars, girls, one-night stands…

"Dean?" He heard Lori calling.

"Over here," he called, stopping the treadmill and stepping off it.

He heard the door to their home gym opening. "Casey just called," Lori said, a bit out of breath.

"And…?"

"Just listen, okay?" Dean heard a cell button being pushed, then Lori put the phone to his ear.

"Hi, Lori, this is Casey. I'm calling for Dean…I wanted to know if he'd mind meeting me for coffee. Please ask him to call me back, okay? Thanks."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Eye of the Beholder (2/3)**

Rating: PG-13 for some swearing. Gen with hints of het, but not quite.  
Characters: Dean, Lori (OC), another OC, mentions of Sam.  
Author's note: This was supposed to be a two-parter, but somehow got longer and longer. Part of my Blind!Dean 'verse.  
Summary: AU, Dean was badly injured in the last fight with The Demon, and has to readjust to life. No beta, all mistakes are mine.  
Warnings: Angst.  
Words: Around 1,300.  
Disclaimer: Don't own them.

* * *

"You should call her." Lori said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I'm not going to call her!" Dean said, wiping his face and neck with his towel.

"Why not?"

"It's a stupid idea," Dean replied, putting the towel down.

"Dating? Yeah, it's kind of stupid. Still, better than your parents matching you."

"You know that's not what I mean," Dean said.

"I know," Lori sighed, "but you've been climbing the walls since I moved in, and probably before that, too. You should go out, for the sake of my sanity if not yours."

He wasn't climbing the walls, not really. Okay, so maybe he was a bit bored, but that didn't mean he wanted to go _outside_, where everyone could see him and he could see no one. And why would that Casey girl want to date _him_, anyway?

"She's ugly, isn't she?" That was it; She was the Shtriga's long-lost sister.

"What? No!" Lori slapped his arm. "She looks perfectly fine, and you're incredibly shallow."

"Well, can't see her myself…" He missed looking at girls, especially at summer, with their tank tops and mini-skirts and those very short shorts.

"You know, I think it's an advantage."

"An advantage?"

"Yeah. Gives you a more objective point of view."

"Actually, it's _lack_ of view."

"Dean," Lori gave a dramatic sigh, "you wouldn't know romance if it hit you in the face."

"I know romance. It's Valentine's Day cards and flowers and chocolate and all the shit I don't do."

"If you don't go out with her, you probably won't do those things for a while," Lori said.

That was a low blow. Not because of the 'romance' but because of certain physical needs that haven't been satisfied since the accident. He made a mental note _not _to mentioned _that_ to Lori. He tried switching strategies.

"I can't take her anywhere."

"She has a car."

"I'm not letting a _girl_ pick me up." Sight or no sight, he still had his dignity.

"I'll drive you."

"I'm not letting a _girl_ drive me to a date." Didn't she get it would be almost as bad?

"We'll wait till Sam comes home, then he can drive you."

"I'm not letting my _baby brother_ drive me to a date."

"I'm out of ideas." Lori's tone was suggesting _he_ was the one being unreasonable, which was, of course, ridiculous.

"Didn't you say something about that chip they implant in blind people's eyes?" Dean said hopefully.

"Dean, the first chip won't come out till 2009, and it would be years before they would be able to make you see good enough to drive."

"I'll wait," Dean stated, folding his hands across his chest.

"_Dean_."

"I'll think about it, okay?" He said, just to get her off his back.

"Promise?" Why did she have to sound so damn hopeful?

"Yeah, promise. Just let me get my shower; I'm all sweat."

On his way to the shower, he realized he had no idea what Lori looked like.

* * *

"These jeans must be a decade old," said Lori, awe and despair mixing in her voice. 

Dean smirked. "More or less." He didn't have to see which it – he always wore his clothes till they wore out, and sometimes after that.

"Sam bought you four new pairs last month, and you still haven't worn any of them."

"Wearing geeky _Gap_ pants is bad for my reputation."

"They're not geeky. There's a great black pair…"

"No geeky pants; Forget it." Dean still remembered what happened when twelve-year-old Sammy and their dad went to that Salvation Army store without him.

"It's a bad idea, you know," he said, listening to hangers' rustle as Lori moved them.

"Come on, it'll be okay. Just tell her you want to take a walk, instead of going somewhere. You know the way to the park and back."

"And what if she'd want to go somewhere?"

"Then you'll say yes, and order something that isn't too complicated for you to eat."

He ended up wearing his old jeans, but with a new v-neck shirt – black, according to Lori. It was hot enough to go outside without a jacket. He used gel on his hair, for the first time since his injury. He had his cell phone, cash, and a credit card (real, for a change). He was ready as he'd ever be.

"I'll be at home, okay?" Lori said as she walked him to the gate. "Just call if anything goes wrong."

Before he had a chance to say anything, he heard a car stopping by.

"That's Casey," Lori said.

Great. Why was he doing that again? Oh, yeah - he wanted to get laid.

"Hi Lori, hi Dean," Casey called.

Lori squeezed his arm reassuringly before Casey took it, then she was gone.

"So, how about a walk?" he asked Casey.

* * *

Casey rang their door bell. "I hope you'll feel better soon," she said earnestly. 

That was why the demon left him alive, thought Dean, so he could be humiliated for the rest of his life.

"Thanks," he said through his clenched teeth.

"You'll let me know about the interview?" She asked.

"Yeah, sure." He'd be damned if he was ever going to talk to her again in his life.

The door was opened.

"You're home early," Lori said.

"Dean had a headache," Casey explained. "I have to go – see you!"

"What happened?" Lori asked as soon as she closed the door.

"What happened?" Dean mimicked her voice. "I'll tell you what happened: She wanted a guinea pig for her research, that what happened, and I fell for it."

"What research?"

"She has to interview five people with disabilities for her 'Qualitative Research' course, whatever that is, and I guess you knew about that, which makes you both cold bitches."

"Dean, I had no idea she was doing a research. I swear…I mean, we don't take the same classes! How was I suppose to know?"

He knew she was being sincere, but that didn't make him feel anymore charitable towards her.

"So, you're saying you're not a bitch, just stupid?"

"Hey!"

"Come on, Lori. Look at me. Those scars are _bad_, and the blindness doesn't help. Did you really think she was asking me out?"

"Yes! You're a nice guy, even though you're not acting like one right now, and those scars are just on the surface."

If she'd start talking about 'inner beauty' he'd have to kill her. "You're delusional, you know that?"

"Because I was wrong about Casey?"

"Because you think everybody is nice and sunny and sweet. I've got news for you – it doesn't work that way. If you're not careful, they're going to eat you alive."

"How did this become about me?"

"Because if you haven't been so _stupid_ as to move in with two men you don't even know, none of this would have happened. Hell, we could have raped and murdered you at your first night here."

"So, I'm stupid because I trust people?" Lori asked, and that little tremble in her voice only made him angrier. Stupid chick.

"That, and the whole volunteering thing. Going around playing Good Samaritan. Instead of minding your own business like every spoiled princess, you had to come and pushed yourself into our lives."

Lori was silent for so long he started to wonder if she left the place.

"Sam's coming back tomorrow morning," she said eventually, "I'll leave then."

"Good." It would be just he and Sam again, like it should be. No annoying strangers.

* * *

He had a nightmare again that night. She sat with him till he fell asleep again. They didn't talk about that in the morning, though – they neve did. When he let her know that Sam would be back home in an hour, all she said was that she put what was left of the household expenses' money on the kitchen's counter. Then she was gone. 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Eye of the Beholder (3/?)**

Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
Pairing: None. Gen with hints of het  
Characters: Dean, Sam Lori (OC), other OCs.  
Author's note: This was supposed to be a two-parter, but somehow got longer and longer. Part of my Blind!Dean 'verse.  
Summary: AU, Dean was badly injured in the last fight with The Demon, and has to readjust to life. In this part of the 'verse, his first 'date' after his injury goes very wrong. All the rest of the 'verse stories can be found in my profile.  
Warnings: Angst. No beta, all mistakes are mine, and I'm sick at the moment…  
Words: Around 1,500  
Disclaimer: Don't own them.

* * *

"Thanks for letting me stay," Lori said, rolling her suitcase through the open door. Her old dorm room was small and crowded, but it was only for a few days. She still had no idea where she was going to stay after that, but she'd figure something out. 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out with your Dean," Hannah said.

"It was just a job; it's okay" Lori replied, lowering her head. "Hey, can I have anything to drink?"

"Help yourself," Hannah said, pointing at the mini-fridge's direction. Lori bent over to open its door, and took out a can of coke. Then she sat herself on Hannah's chair. It was just a job, she repeated to herself, if an intense one.

"What happened, anyway?" Casey asked.

"It's not important," Lori said, putting her arms around herself.

"Lori, he fired you over this, of course it's important," Hanna put in.

"Technically speaking, he didn't fire me – I quited." Lori corrected.

"So why did you quit?" Casey asked.

"Well…" how was she going to say that without sounding like she was accusing Casey of anything?

"Remember when you called? It sounded, kind of…like you're asking Dean out. I got it wrong, and it went downhill from there."

"Asking him _out_?" repeated Casey. "What made you think_that_?"

"You called and asked him out for coffee; that's a date in my book."

"I wanted to be friendly," Casey said, "I need to interview him, and my professor said we have to make our research subjects feel comfortable. You know, have them open up to you. I can't believe you thought it was a date!"

"Asking someone for coffee is…universal language for dating!" Lori protested. "I think it was a reasonable mistake."

"Usually, yeah," Casey agreed, "but…"

"But_what_?" Lori asked. Dean couldn't have been right, could he? He couldn't have been right, because that meant she was an idiot, and her self-esteem wasn't doing so well at the moment.

"_Lori_…" Casey said, slowly, "Dean isn't exactly every girl's dream date. I know I'm not being PC, but I don't want to date a guy who has to have his beer bottle opened for him."

"You're going to be a social worker," Lori pointed out. She made herself focus on the coolness of the coke in her hands.

"That doesn't mean I want to date my cases - just the opposite. Dating a handicapped person would be like working."

"He's not a 'handicapped person'," Lori said. He was, of course, technically speaking, but that was just it – a technical definition. "He's…_Dean_."

"Sure he is," Casey said gently, "but you can't ignore his handicap."

"I'm not _ignoring_ anything," Lori said, a bit too loud. "I'm saying there's more to him than that."

"Like what? Come on, Lori. He sits at home and lets his brother and you care for him. He hasn't got a job…"

"He's still recovering from the accident."

Casey snorted. "That was what, a year ago?"

"Ten months." Lori clenched her free hand to a fist. She hoped Casey would show her future cases more understanding than she was showing Dean.

"Ten months, and he hasn't done a thing. Blind or not, he's a slacker. "

And that was _it_. Lori looked at Casey, looked at her coke, looked at Casey again.

"AAAHHH!!!" Casey screamed as the coke spilled all over her, dripping from her face and sweater, all the way down to her jeans and snickers.

"Lori!" Hannah said in alarm.

"Don't worry, I'll let myself out," Lori said, rolling her suitcase out of the room before either one had a chance to stop her

* * *

Only a Dean-shaped life form, Sam mused as he unlocked the door, could survive such high decibels. He put down his duffel at the hole and went straight to the living room. "Dean!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard above Black Sabbath. 

"How ya doing, Sammy?" Dean shouted back.

"Fine! Would you turn the damn thing off? I can't hear myself think!"

"Then don't think," Dean replied, but he turned the volume down, "how was the search for Nessie?"

"Wet," Sam said, "And it wasn't Nessie. Nessie is in _Loch Ness_, in Scotland."

Dean waved his hand airily "If it's big, ugly, and lives in the water, it's Nessie."

"Lori isn't home, right?" If she had been, she would have been deaf by that time. Hell, their neighbors, by that time, were probably deaf, at least temporarily. "Did you have anything to eat?"

"Why are you always trying to feed me?" Dean groaned. "I may be invalid, but I can find my way to the fridge."

Sam wrinkled his forehead. "You're upset because I want to make you something to _eat_? Are you sick?" Dean only refused food when he was too ill to move.

"I ate…" Dean pressed the watch-calculator next to him; 'it's two forty-one p.m.' it said in its metallic voice, "about an hour ago. I won't be starving to death anytime soon, so just…leave me alone, okay?"

Whenever Dean said 'leave me alone' Sam knew he had to stick around and try to fix things. Trouble was, he didn't know what was wrong. Dean turned the volume up again, so high Sam thought his ear drums would explode. He used his power to unplug the amplifier.

"_Cheater._"

"Yeah." Sam agreed.

"Put it back."

"No."

"Go away."

"No."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"No," Sam said, because really, Dean was asking for it. "I'll tell you what: I'm going to grab a shower, then we can talk."

"Nothing to talk about," Dean insisted.

Sam sighed and left the room, going down the corridor, he noticed Lori's door was open, and…

"DEAN!"

"Dude, I'm blind, not deaf, stop yelling."

"Why is Lori's room empty?" It wasn't empty, so to speak - all the furniture was there, but anything Lori-related was gone. No Garfield slippers on the floor, no books on the shelves…

"She left." Dean said, his voice all too casual.

The good news was, Sam thought, that he found out what Dean was pissed about. The bad news was that it was bad news.

"_Why?_"

"I'll tell you why. She's an idiot, that's why."

"Since when?"

"Since she brought her study group here."

"Wait - you told her not to, and she brought them anyway?"

"Not that…she asked, I said okay, then that girl Casey asked me out, only she didn't – not really. She just wanted a guinea pig for her study…"

"Slow down, will you? A girl from Lori's study group asked you out?"

"Lori thought so," Dean said, grimly, "kept telling me that I can't spend the rest of my life sitting at home and such bullshit. I swear, the girl thinks we're living in some sort of a fairy tale. So Casey came over and we went for a walk. She started talking about her project, and how I'll be doing her a really big favor if I agree to talk about the way I deal with the disability…shit like that."

"And…"

"I told her I'll think about it, and that I think I'm about to have a headache because of, you know, my _disability_."

That, Sam thought, was _bad_. Whoever that girl was, she wounded Dean's already badly hurt pride, and apparently Dean took it out on Lori.

"Please tell me you didn't fire her over this," Sam said.

"I didn't _fire_ her," Dean said, "she quited."

"What did you tell her that made her quit?"

"What does it matter? She quited, it's over, good riddance."

"You don't mean that," Sam said. In their odd-couple way, Dean and Lori made good friends.

"Sure I mean it," Dean said angrily. "She's an outsider, you know that. She doesn't fit in with us, man. We can't talk about anything important when she's around."

"As if that bothered you so far. You enjoy talking above her head about 'cases' and 'being a PI'." _Who is going to look after you when I'm not around?_ Sam silently asked.

"Besides, it was bound to happen," Dean went on as if he didn't hear Sam. "In a month, or a year, or whatever from now she would have found herself a new job, or a boyfriend to move in with, or saw something she shouldn't have and freaked out."

"She would have left anyway. Is that what you're saying?" So it wasn't just Dean's wounded pride, Sam understood at last. He remembered the damn shapeshifter, a long time ago, telling him how Dean knew he was a freak, and that everyone was going to leave him.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying," Dean stated in a tone of finality. "Go grab your shower."

"Dean…" Sam began, but Dean was already on his feet, leaving the room.

Sam rubbed his forehead, wondering how the hell he was going to fix that one.

TBC

Thanks for all the reviewers! Please leave a way to contact you so I can thank you personally (yeah, I mean you, Amy!)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

At the end, it was Sam who gave up and bought earplugs. Dean turned up his guitar's amplifier volume all the way to the 'ARE YOU NUTS?!' level, and spent his time singing off-tune at the top of his voice. Whenever Sam unplugged the damn thing, Dean would just go to sulk off quietly at the back yard. The quiet was even more unnerving than the rock concert; So Sam bought the earplugs.

* * *

"What do you think about that Sinclair dude?" Dean asked, as they sat in front of the TV for the evening's news. "Think he did it?"

Sam glanced at Dean. "The murder-suicide? Dunno. You think it's our kind of gig?"

"Could be. I mean - that guy, _that head-shrinker_, with buckets load of money, a kid who's about to graduate from some fancy boarding school, and so on, went and wasted both himself and his wife? Doesn't make much sense."

Dean's hunches were about 99 percent accurate, but somebody had to play devil's advocate. "It's possible," Sam said, slowly, "maybe he had money problems, or maybe his wife wanted a divorce. Not to mention that they don't have the autopsies' reports yet. "

Dean shoved Sam by the shoulder. "You should go and check it out."

Sam jumped at the opportunity. "I _can't_."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm not leaving you alone." Sam said. _Wasn't it obvious?_

"I can take care of myself for three freakin' days. Who do you think looked after you when Dad was away? Tinkerbell?"

"Yeah, well, the _looking_ part is a bit problematic these days." Okay, thought Sam, that was mean of him, but what else was he supposed to do? He was at his wits' (and nerves) end.

"_Screw you_." It seemed that Dean thought so, too; The mean part, anyway. But Sam was an expert at tough love by now, and he wasn't giving up.

"Somehow, Dean, I don't think incest will solve our problem."

"Smartass."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Pot, this is kettle. Kettle, this is pot."

"I'm the pot, " said Dean. "You're the lame kettle."

"Fine,_pot_. You're not staying home alone."

"Yes I am." Dean was always stubborn.

"No you're not." 'Stubborn' was the understatement of the year when talking about Sam. "You know, I talked to Ellen yesterday. She mentioned that Jo's between jobs."

"Not_Jo_ again." Dean, Sam thought, _wanted_ to give in. He just had to allow him to do it with most of his dignity intact. "Just point her at the Sinclair gig direction."

That wasn't the reaction Sam was aiming at. "She'd screw up, get herself killed, and Ellen will blame us."

"I know where you're going with that," Dean had his 'I'm onto you' expression on his face. "You want me to ask Lori to come back."

"That will solve the problem, yeah."

Dean sat for fifty-three seconds (Sam checked his watch) without saying anything.

"It's a bad idea, relying on her like that. When she'd leave, we're going to have the same problem all over again." Dean warned.

Sam nodded, thought better of it. "Yeah. But, Dean," he said, as gently as he could, "people come and go. It's the way of life."

"One sucky way."

"Yeah," Sam agreed whole-heartily. _People leave, but some of them also come back, and those people? Wouldn't have it any other way._

"I said some bad things to her, man."

"I kind of got that, with her leaving and all."

"I don't know if she'd want to come back."

"She will," said Sam, because he didn't want to think of what would happen to his ears otherwise. "You'll just have to apologize. _A lot_." He grabbed Dean by the shoulder. "Now, let's go find her."

"Dude, I'm not going out!" Dean tried to protest.

"Why not?"

Dean pointed solemnly at his face. Sam sighed.

"Dude, Lori knows how you looks like."

"Yeah," Dean said, "but we're going to the _dorms_, right?"

Once upon a time, nothing would have made Dean happier than a building full of college girls.

"It's dark outside."

Dean hesitated.

"Look, you want Lori back or not?"

"Fine," Dean said, "but I'm only doing that because you're such a mother hen…can't let me enjoy being on my own."

"You got it," Sam said, looking around for his keys. "Let's go."

* * *

"How come she's not at the dorms?" Dean asked again as they reached the truck.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said, as patiently as he could.

"She's been to her classes, but she's not at the dorms. "

"I know that, Dean. I was there when that girl told us that," Sam said, turning on the engine. He started to maneuver out of the parking lot.

"She probably has a new job already."

"It's only been a week. Relax."

"I am. Totally relaxed. I'm just saying…"

"We'll figure this out, okay?"

* * *

"How's the place like?"

"Crappy," answered Sam shortly. He got out of the track and went to the shotgun's door.

"What do you think she's doing here?"

"Saving money. Come on," Sam said, taking Dean's arm.

"Excuse me," Sam said to the first guy they saw, "have you seen a girl around here? She's about twenty-one, five-three, brown hair."

"Been here for a few days, right?" The guy asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"I knew it!" said the guy, slapping his thigh.

"Knew_what_?" Dean asked.

"I_knew_ she took in clients. Why else would a girl stay here for so long? You know, before you came, I was actually beginning to think she was just staying, you know, not doing business. Now I see she's…a specialist." He gestured at Dean.

"You think she's a hooker?" Dean said slowly.

"Words don't matter. Prostitute, call girl, wh…" said the guy, waving his hand.

His big brother, Sam observed, looking down at the guy on the floor, still had excellent aim. "Guess we'll have to find her ourselves," he told Dean, who was massaging his knuckles.

"Guess so."

* * *

Sam didn't comment about the way Dean fidget, waiting for Lori to answer the door.

"_Oh_," Lori said as she saw them. She looked from Dean to Sam, looking like she wanted to close the door again.

"Um," Dean said.

"Can we come in?" Sam asked, because he guessed that the whole one- syllable-at-a-time thing could go on for quite a while if he didn't.

"Yes, sure," Lori said, moving out of the way.

"If this is about the _Blue Oyster Cult_ CD," she said as soon as they entered the room, "it's already in the mail. You'll get it in a day or two."

"It's not about the CD." Sam assured her.

"It's about," Dean began, "well, I think…it might be a good idea that you'd come back home. If you want to. It would be nice. Not that I'm trying to press you or anything."

Lori raised her eyebrows. "Why would you want that? I screwed up with Casey…you said so yourself."

"Yeah, well…I didn't mean to say that. I was pissed at her."

"You really want me to come back?" Lori asked, her voice a bit chocked.

"Do you think I'd come all the way here if I didn't?"

"Guess not," Lori replied.

"Let's get your stuff," Sam said, rather urgently.

"What were you thinking, staying in this flea motel instead of the dorms?" Dean asked.

"Well, I'm kinda persona-non-grante at the dorms at the moment." Lori said apologetically.

"What? Why?"

"I, um, spilled some coke on Casey."

"You spilled coke on her? On purpose?" Sam asked.

"Um, yeah."

Dean smirked. Sam hid a smile.

"You know, I'm really glad you came," Lori said, "the wallpaper is awful, and the guy next room keeps looking at me oddly."

Sam wondered if the guy cleared himself off the floor by now. If not, he might punch him himself, just for good measure.

"One last thing," Lori said, throwing clothes from the chair nearby into her suitcase, "you two aren't serial killers, right?"

"That depends," Dean replied hesitantly.

"Depends? On what?"

"Well, we waste anything supernatural and evil – but we don't kill_humans_."

Sam stopped himself at the last moment from going 'Dean!'.

"Funny," Lori said.

Sam was quick to recover. "He always had an odd sense of humor."

"At least he's creative."

"If you're going to stand here and talk about me all night…" Dean began.

"No way," Sam said. "We're going home."

END


End file.
